maria

“You look like a boy,” Maria said as she opened the door.

“Thank you,” I returned, pinching her cheek.

Miss Olga stood at the back door fanning herself.

“Hola,” I said, walking over to kiss her on the forehead. “You're shrinking.”

“I'm old. That's what I'm supposed to do.”

“No es vieja,” I said, shunning her words. “Es más joven.”

“Ain't nothin' young on me but this new hair dye. How does it look?”

“Muy bonita. Very pretty. So what's happening?”

“Your niece is going to be the death of me.”

“What's the matter?” I asked, pulling out a chair at the table.

“She's hungry. She's hungry for answers, and I don't know what to tell her.”

“What does she want to know?”

“She wants to know about her family. She wants to know who that lady is who comes around banging on the door late at night, asking for money.”

“I didn't know Caramia was bothering you. I'll sit vigil with you tonight. Then, tomorrow we're going to a realtor to find you a place closer to me.”

“I'm too old to move,” she whined. “Besides, this is my home.”

“It's my home, too, but the neighborhood is changing and sometimes we have to let go,” I reasoned, looking at her. That hair dye really was too dark for her light skin. I made a mental note to pick up another color, something light, on the way to the realtor.

“Let's go for a walk,” I suggested.

“Okay, I'll close up the house.”

The three of us rode in silence to Kelly Drive, and I parked on the circle behind the Art Museum.

“You two go ahead. I don't walk so fast no more,” Miss Olga said.

I linked arms with Maria and bought two bottles of water from the man who sells snacks from his van while his fat dog lounges on a mattress in the shade.

“Do you know why you're named Maria?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Miss Olga had a husband who loved her, and together they had a daughter. The husband died, and Miss Olga was sad. The daughter died in a drowning accident, and Miss Olga was even sadder. She grieved hard. For years she kept the table set for three, hoping that they would come back to her.”

“That's stupid. How could they come back if they were dead?”

“Don't interrupt. She was just really sad, and she wouldn't let that go. She started looking after me, and I think that I helped her through that. But when you came, she finally cleared off that table and opened her arms to you. You're named after her daughter.”

“That's creepy. But where did I come from?”

I sighed. “You came from my sister, Caramia.”

“‘My dear?' ”

“Mm-hmm. She was beautiful. She had a heart of gold, but she let a lot of things get to her. She took the easy way out.”

I took a gulp of water and stopped walking. I turned her around to face me.

“That woman who comes around banging on the door at night is my sister, your mother, Caramia Byrd.”

Tears began falling from her eyes. I wiped her face and pulled her further along on the walking path.

“I know it doesn't feel good, but that beautiful sister I love is still there. One day you'll see.”

“I want to see tonight.”

“Are you sure?” I questioned.

“Yes.”

That night we sat in the kitchen eating fajitas. At eleven o'clock, someone started knocking on the door. Miss Olga looked at me and took a deep breath. I pushed myself from the table and walked to the door as the second round of pounding began.

“Come in here and quit all that banging,” I commanded. I could tell that she was shocked to see me. I was sad because she looked so bad.

“What'chu doin' here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“What for?” she asked. She was talking fast, and by the way she was fidgeting, I could tell she was feinding.

“Your daughter wants to see you.”

“I ain't got no daughter.”

I slapped her hard. “Don't you ever say that. You have a daughter, and she's sitting at that table in the kitchen. So you're going to take yourself in that kitchen and say something to her.”

In the kitchen, Maria played with her tortilla, sopping up the chicken grease and dragging it around her plate.

Caramia stood in the doorway looking at her child. “Hi,” she said.

Maria looked up and said, “I love you.” Just like that.

All of us stood in stunned silence.

“I love you because you made me. I know you have problems now, but when you get yourself together, Aunt Song, Mama Olga, and I will be waiting for you. Now get out of here and don't come back around here asking for money.”

Then she got up and walked up the stairs to her bedroom.

“De las bocas de los niños,” Miss Olga said after Caramia left.

“You said it, Miss Olga. From the mouths of babes.”